Catch a Falling Star (29 page)

With a groan, Griffin hauled himself out of the Jeep. Surely he had the guts to go knock on Kendall's door and get his brother. Say hello. Good-bye. Leave. And restrict seeing the woman to when Ian had a doctor's appointment.

Climbing the stairs to the loft, he gave two swift raps on the door.

“The door's unlocked, Ian—”

Griffin watched Kendall stiffen when she saw him standing outside her loft.

“I'm here to get Ian.”

“He's not here. He took Sully for a run.” She tucked her hands in the back pockets of her jeans that were torn at the knees. “Do you want to come in and wait for him?”

Did he want to come in? No.

“Sure.” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket, striding past her. “The Jeep looks good.”

“Yep. Ian's a quick learner. How's his Cherokee?”

Griffin watched her perch on the arm of her couch, her bare feet swinging a few inches from the floor. “I told him that we didn't work on his Jeep until yours was fixed. Seemed only fair.”

“He said you're still sending him back to Florida.”

The woman shot straight.

“Yes. As soon as school gets out.”

“Griffin, I was just talking to your brother. If you heard how badly he wants a family—how much he wants to get to know you—”

“Kendall. Stop.” Why couldn't she let this go? “There are too many years between me and my brother. And he needs to be with a real family.”

“You are his real family now, Griffin.”

“A single guy does not constitute a family. And that's all I'm ever going to be.”

“Why? Because your sins are so much worse than everyone else's? Because you think God operates on some sort of one-strike-and-you're-out system? Why don't you ask God how wide and deep his grace is, Griffin? Why don't you see what he has waiting for you, rather than deciding that yourself?”

“Enough, Kendall. We've talked about this—”

Kendall gripped the arm of the couch. “I'm sorry your first marriage ended in divorce, but that doesn't mean you have to stay single forever. You've made it clear that, despite kissing me the other night, you're not interested in me—” She was veering into no-man's-land again. “—but surely you'll find someone—”

“Kendall, believe me, if you knew everything about me, you wouldn't want to be involved with me.”

His words brought her off the couch.

“Really? You're pulling the melodramatic if-you-knew-all-about-me line?” She stood with one hand on her hip, the other pointed straight at him. “We're adults, Griffin, not teenagers in some movie about puppy love.”

“Being older means we've had longer to make mistakes.”

“Enough already. I had no idea you could be such a drama king, Griffin. The reality is you like your life the way it is.”

“You're wrong.” Griffin closed the remaining space that
separated them until he was mere inches from her. “I can't have kids, Kendall.”

There. He said it.

“You can't . . .”

“. . . have kids.” Griffin forced himself to continue looking into Kendall's slate-gray eyes as he finished the sentence for her. He said it once, so why was it so hard to say it again?

“Is there a medical problem . . . maybe there's something you could—”

Why wasn't he surprised when she switched on her doctor-brain and began asking questions, trying to fix his problem?

“I had a vasectomy fourteen years ago. That's a pretty final no to the whole can-you-have-kids question.”

He watched her eyes widen, knowing this confession hit her harder than his hallway confession about crashing a plane a few nights ago. This was personal . . . intimate . . . a choice that weighed down his past, present, and future.

“My ex-wife insisted she didn't want kids. Ever.” A snort of laughter blew past his lips. “Ironic, isn't it? With three kids, the woman looks like a finalist for the Mother of the Year award. Twins, even. Our marriage struggled almost from the minute we walked out of the Academy chapel. When she said, ‘No kids,' I agreed with her. What did I know? I was twenty-four. I barely knew myself. I certainly didn't know my wife. We lived apart more than we lived together. I thought if I agreed to have a vasectomy, it would help save our marriage. At least I could stop one of the arguments.”

Griffin closed his eyes, blocking out the barrage of questions in Kendall's eyes. “Tracey left six months later. The divorce was final within a year. And there was one advantage to my decision. I didn't have to worry about my choices once I was single, ya know?”

When he looked at Kendall again, she watched him, her hand at her throat as if his words stole her breath away. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. If only he could stop talking and find comfort in Kendall's arms—the kind of comfort that would ease the ache of his confession.

“Griffin, you know vasectomies can be reversed—”

“It's done, Kendall. Don't you get it? I made a choice, I live with the choice. And since I've become a believer, I'm learning to live with the consequences of my choices.”

“What? Like some sort of penance?”

“Some of us are meant to be single. I may be new in my faith, but even I've learned that.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Look, I want you to understand why I can't . . . can't do whatever this is between us. I know you're all about marriage and family. You're a
family
physician. Your subspecialty means you almost trip over kids when you walk into your practice.”

“There is nothing between us, Griffin. You won't let there be—”

The shrill ping of Kendall's iPhone cut off her words. Griffin stood silent as she retrieved her cell from her satchel.

“Dr. Haynes.”

Kendall listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone, tilting her head to the side as if struggling to understand. “Yes, he's my patient. Why is he in the ER?”

It was easy to see their conversation—his foolhardy admission—was over. He would wait for Ian in his car. Tell him to take Sully upstairs and then get back home. As he reached the door, Kendall called out to him.

“Griffin, wait. I have to leave. One of my kids is in the ER. Can you stay here until Ian and Sully get back? Just lock the door.” She slipped into a pair of worn-out tennis shoes and slung her purse over her shoulder. “Sully will be fine.”

“No problem.”

“Thanks. I've gotta go.” She hesitated for a second, as if debating whether to say something. “Thanks.”

As she backed the Jeep out of its parking space, Kendall waited to be connected with the ER physician again.

“Dr. Alvarado.”

“This is Dr. Haynes. I'm trying to get some information about my patient, Nicholas Wells. I was told he's in the ER and that you're taking care of him.”

“Yes, his mom brought him about an hour ago now because Nicholas was becoming lethargic, light-headed, and said he was seeing spots. She said he hadn't been eating much the last few days and then today he started throwing up.”

Kendall took the fastest route to Memorial Hospital, trying to concentrate on the conversation as well as the traffic. “I've seen a viral intestinal illness going around.”

“At first we thought he might have that, or maybe a migraine. But his pulse is about thirty-five and he is in intermittent third-degree heart block.”

“What?” Kendall gripped the steering wheel, forcing herself to stay focused on the traffic even as she tried to comprehend the doctor's information.

Dr. Alvarado continued presenting the case. “When we asked his mother about Nicholas's history, she told us about his allergies and asthma, but denied any history of cardiac disorders. In addition to his regular inhalers and antihistamine, she mentioned they had continued to give him the new supplement she'd gotten from your office.”

“I never gave him a new supplement. Do you know the name of it?”

“The mom brought the container in with her. It's labeled Kupu.”

Kendall's hand shook as she shifted gears. Was this Heath's elusive “supplement”—the one Evie was researching? Why was Nicholas taking it?

“Dr. Haynes?”

“I'm here.” She slammed the brakes as the light in front of her turned red.

“Can you tell us anything about this?”

“I-I can't. I didn't prescribe it. But I can get in contact with someone who knows about it.”

“Because this is an unknown substance, we're sending this off for toxicology testing.”

“I'll be there in ten minutes. I can probably get information about it long before the tox report is back. Please tell the family I'm on my way.”

“Will do.”

Kendall turned left at the next intersection and then audio-dialed Heath Parker. Even as she mentally rehearsed her questions, his voice mail came on, directing her to leave a message.

“Heath, this is Kendall. Call me as soon as you get this message. I'm on my way to Memorial. One of my patients is there. He's having a reaction to some supplement you recommended to his parents.” A million questions swirled through her brain. “What is going on? Call me.”

Her thoughts focused on Nicholas. Eleven-year-old boy. Vomiting. Slow heart rate. Seeing spots. And some kind of supplement?

Wait a minute.

She voice-dialed the Memorial ER.

“This is Dr. Haynes. I need to speak to Dr. Alvarado again.”

“He can't come to the phone. Your patient's heart rate has slowed even more and Dr. Alvarado's having to sedate him to start an external pacemaker on him.”

The nurse's announcement left Kendall speechless. She needed to get to the ER. Now. “Tell Dr. Alvarado to order a digitalis and potassium level, if he hasn't already. I'll be there in five.”

K
endall shifted in the padded metal chair positioned near the circular wood table. Normally when she entered one of the small rooms just off the hospital ER, she was in a position of authority—the one providing answers to a family's questions. Now she waited for a police officer to come in and ask her questions. She had plenty of time to stare at the walls, a neutral tone of yellow. Nothing too bright. The framed pastoral prints were selected . . . why? To create a sense of calm for the families who entered this room, sat at this table, and stared all sorts of this-can't-be-happening news in the face?

At least Nicholas was stable. He was still sedated, but the external pacemaker had raised his heart rate to a near-normal level and his blood pressure had improved. Despite Kendall's insisting she didn't know anything about Kupu, Dr. Alvarado seemed ready to lay all the blame for the child's problems on Kendall's shoulders. She was thankful Jim and Jean Wells trusted her.
Thank God they had a long-standing relationship that would get them through this. They knew she loved Nicholas and cared about his health.

She scanned her iPhone again. Still no return call from Heath. No text message. This, despite the fact that she'd texted and called him dozens of times in the past hour and a half. He'd call any minute now. He had to. Heath Parker was the only one with any answers.

Kendall jerked at the sound of the door opening. It didn't help that she was about to talk with a police officer looking like anything but a professional. She still wore the torn and stained jeans and an oversized
COLORADO AVALANCHE
T-shirt, with the collar torn out. Her go-to summer ensemble whenever she worked on her CJ5.

No matter what she looked like, she was a competent physician. She hadn't given Nicholas this “Kupu”-whatever-it-was. And she hadn't known what Heath was doing. How many of Kendall's patients had the man talked to? Evie mentioned only the Harringtons. Now the Wellses. She watched the policewoman enter the room, nod in her direction. This wasn't an interrogation. The police were merely gathering facts.